you?"
"I had forty years with my Henry. And—oh, Maggie! I wish you could see
Paul—he's such a handsome, smart boy. What about you, Maggie? Did you have
children?"
Meghann couldn't take much more of this; hearing about the sweet, happy life
Bridie had led made her realize how cursed her own had been since the night
Simon Baldevar walked into it. "Bridie, if you want the pain to stop forever, I can
help. But this must be your decision."
"There's no decision—what I've been doing since I got this cancer isn't living.
Help me, Maggie. Take me home."
Meghann grasped her friend's hand. "Listen to my voice." She began talking to
Bridie about their childhood memories: the old days of cheating on a math test in
Sister Mary Margaret's sixth-grade class, their first school dance, drinking icecream sodas and reading movie magazines, waiting on line at Radio City Music
Hall to see Gone With the Wind.
While she talked, Meghann wrapped her power around Bridie's heart, the
stubborn heart that was still beating in the cancer-racked body. The strain of
keeping her voice upbeat while she concentrated her entire will on holding Bridie's
heart still made her tremble; small beads of perspiration formed on the ivory skin
of her forehead, but she did it—she used her skill to help her friend.
Meghann leaned over and closed the sightless, staring eyes. Even after fifty
years, she was uneasy around death, particularly when she caused it. "Good-bye,
Bridie."
Good-bye as well to the last person who remembered Maggie O'Neill—the
bright-eyed, happy undergraduate she'd been before she met Simon Baldevar.
Was it thoughts of her dead master that made Meghann feel weak and sick or
had she expended too much energy helping her old friend? She collapsed into a
chair by the bed, trembling and nauseous. She didn't need a mirror to tell her how
awful she must look—she had to have blood right away.
"Thank you."
Meghann looked up at the white-haired old man who had entered the room.
She really was sick if her senses hadn't warned her of the mortal entering the
room. How much had he seen?
"I don't know who you are, but thank you for helping my wife."
Before Meghann could shake the gnarled hand in front of her, a team of
doctors and nurses stormed into the room, responding to the flat, loud beep on
Bridie's heart monitor.
"Flatliner!" one of them barked. "Code Blue!"
"No," Henry protested. "Don't you bring Bridie back—she's at peace now."
An arrogant doctor took control. "This man is hysterical. Get him out of here."
Meghann forced herself out of the chair and walked over to the doctor. She
put a restraining hand on him. "Doctor, I believe you should defer to the wishes of
the family in this matter." The doctor found himself unable to protest when he
looked into the young woman's eyes. Without another word, he left the room, the
others trailing in his wake.
Meghann was shaking now. Commanding the doctor had depleted her strength.
She had to get blood. She found herself walking toward Henry Fraser.
No! She ran out of the room, ignoring Henry, who was yelling, "Wait! Come
back…"
Meghann rushed through the hospital corridors. She should have known
helping Bridie would leave her weak.
As she hurried through the emergency room, she crashed into a tall, muscular
man. He snarled, "Bitch! The word is excuse me!"
Meghann whirled around. "Watch who you call a bitch."
The man took a step back in shock. He simply could not believe what stood in
front of him—a young woman with bright red hair that made her pale, colorless
skin look even worse. He thought a ghost was glaring at him. The worst part was
her light green eyes; they blazed with power and hatred. They made him want to
run, but he found he couldn't move.
Meghann felt his fear, and relished it. She felt the darkness rising within her,
and didn't even try to stop it. She simply grabbed the man's arm and propelled
him toward a nearby empty staircase.
"Please, miss," he whimpered, "don't hurt me. I'm sorry…"
Meghann's grin made his heart stop cold. "It's too late for sorry, friend. Now
kneel before me." This was a minor trick she'd learned from Simon —seeing
someone's pain and humiliation made their blood taste better.
Meghann leaned down and sank her blood teeth into the man's jugular vein. He
screamed, but Meghann barely heard him. How good the blood was, strong and
hot. It filled her mouth and she wanted to drink down every precious drop. Each
mouthful pushed her anxiety and hurt further away. Her skin regained color; the
shaky, queasy feeling vanished. Still, Meghann went on sucking the man's blood,